It All Started When
by Fire The Canon
Summary: It all started when Harry Potter was made a soap opera. What happens when every week 5 unlikely characters are put together in rather dramatic and mysterious circumstances to tell a story? Tune in every Saturday to find out.


_**Written for the Harry Potter Soap Opera Challenge**_

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**Summary****: **Michael Corner is forced to explain why he has a diary, Adrian Pucey makes a bet and loses, Helena Ravenclaw loses her diary, Robert McGonagall finds a body, and Jack Sloper is threatened.

**Helena ****Lost ****Her ****Diary**

It all started when Helena lost her diary.

Like her mother's diadem, it was a treasured possession. Not in the sense that it was a sacred family heirloom, but it belonged to Helena. The book, itself, had been given to Helena as a gift from Rowena for her thirteenth birthday.

_You're a woman now, Helena. And women needs to organise their thoughts._

She had used it well, scratching ideas and dreams with a quill every time something came to her. Often it was complaining about her overbearing mother.

_She says I'm a woman when it comes to tasks such as education and marriage. However, she treats me like a child when I say I wish to explore on my own. I'm fifteen now – many of the other girls in this school are already with child._

As she grew older those complaints turned from her mother to the Baron. He was a handsome man and had taken a liking to Helena immediately. He wished to marry her, in fact.

Helena wasn't interested.

_He proposed again, this time offering me an estate back in the mountains to go with it. Mother thinks it is a good idea, but I am not interested in marrying him. I am not interested in marrying anybody. I just wish to be left alone._

The thought of losing such a precious item scared Helena. There were many nosey girls in the school, most who were dying to find something scandalous about their professor's daughter. If it got into the wring hands….

A tear trickled down Helena's cheek. She had searched all places in the castle for it and had turned up empty. It was gone, and all she could think about was what if the Baron got his hands on it? She could no longer use the excuse of she did not love him.

Another tear trickled down her cheek, and soon, silent tears became loud wails as she pondered on a Hogwarts staircase. It wasn't until a boy of about fifteen found her, did she stop.

"Er, sorry to be a bother, but I kind of need to get past the staircase and I don't fancy walking through a ghost."

Just the one word caused Helena to start wailing again. A _ghost. _That was all she was to these children. Nothing but a ghost.

"Sorry to bother you." She wiped away a transparent tear as the boy, looking thoroughly relieved, passed her awkwardly. It wasn't until he was halfway up the staircase did he stop.

"Excuse me," he said, turning back to face her. "Mrs Grey Lady… can I ask why you were crying?"

Helena wiped away another transparent tear. "Oh, nothing that concerns you," she said, knowing he was only asking out of sympathy, and not genuine concern. "I was just reminiscing about the past."

"My father always said to look ahead, not back," the boy offered unhelpfully.

Helena sniffed. "Well, when you die and have been a ghost for a thousand years, come and tell me that." She turned her back, sniffing again.

"Er, alright. Have a good day, Mrs Grey Lady. And if anyone asks, I was at the Quidditch match."

Helena didn't even bother to respond.

…

"So that's ten Galleons in Slytherin?"

"To win by two hundred, exactly."

Adrian Pucey tried to keep a plain face as the younger Gryffindor student wrote his bet down in a notebook. Slytherin needed at least two hundred to win the Quidditch Cup, and he'd heard in the common room that Draco Malfoy was going to hold off Cho Chang until Slytherin were _exactly _two hundred ahead.

"Alright," the Gryffindor said. "Place your bet in here." He held out a pouch which was already weighed down with coins.

Adrian happily obliged, knowing that in just a few short hours he would be a very rich man.

The Gryffindor thanked him and then ran off to find another poor soul to give him money.

"You ready?"

Adrian turned to find Marcus Flint with his Quidditch robes already on.

"Malfoy still got that plan?" Adrian asked casually.

Marcus gave a menacing smile. "Don't worry," he said gruffly. "We'll get those much needed two hundred points."

Slytherin won by two-hundred-and-ten. Adrian could have cursed Montague for throwing that Quaffle just as Malfoy had his hand around the Snitch. He had even asked Hooch if she should allow it, and she had replied with, "Don't worry, Pucey, your team gets it fair and square."

They landed, the team cheering, but Adrian rounded on Montague. "What were you thinking?" he demanded.

This few words had stunned the delighted team to silence.

"I thought we planned to win by two hundred."

"Or more," Montague replied. "We sure showed them."

The team returned to celebrating their victory, not even noticing a furious Adrian as he stormed off.

…

Jack could almost skip through the hall after that Quidditch match. What a winning he had incurred. For some reason, most students had been under the impression that it would be a lot closer match than it actually was, or, oddly, some Slytherins were adamant two hundred exact would be the winning margin (and they had almost been right, too, had it not been for Montague.

He was just returning to the common room to put away his winnings when he caught sight of someone huddled up against the wall by the Fat Lady. At first, he thought it was that Neville Longbottom, who was always forgetting the password, but closer inspection told him it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't a Gryffindor at all.

Jack frowned, unsure of what to say. The boy seemed engrossed in the book he had in his hand. He cleared his throat.

The boy jumped to his feet, startled.

"Oh, sorry, didn't see you there," he said. He held up the book. "It's fascinating. It appears to be written in a form of English. It's a diary of some kind, but I can only understand bits and pieces."

Jack only nodded. "Why are you near the Gryffindor common room entrance?" he questioned, suspicious.

"I'm what?" The Ravenclaw turned around and seemed to spot the Fat Lady for the first time. "Oh, I didn't even realise. Terribly sorry." He looked down at the book in his hand again. "I'll be on my way."

He had just rounded the corner when someone else came upon Jack from around the other corner. It was that Pucey bloke – the one who had given him ten Galleons earlier.

"Bad luck today," Jack said brightly to the older student. "Almost thought you had me there."

The Slytherin didn't say a word, but only came at Jack faster. The smaller Gryffindor backed away.

"I want my money," he said menacingly.

"You said two humdred, even," Jack argued, continuing to walk backwards. The difference was two-hundred-and-ten. Not my fault."

The Slytherin Chaser grabbed him by his collar. "Give me my money or you'll find yourself in a rather uncomfortable situation."

His breath reeked of Firewhiskey, making Jack think the Slytherins had had a victory party in their common room.

"It's mine."

"No, it's mine and you took it from me." Pucey slammed Jack against the Fat Lady, who shrieked with terror.

"Attack! Attack!"

Pucey ignored her.

"Give it to me."

"It's mine." Jack squirmed, trying to fight the stronger boy. But years of Quidditch training had helped him.

Pucey raised his fist and Jack braced for the hit. It was going to hurt and he'd probably lose his money, but at least he could say he didn't back down.

The fist came at him faster than he anticipated. He felt it hit the side of his head, and then he saw blackness.

He was down and out.

…

When he had made friends at Hogwarts, Michael Corner thought he couldn't have met a bunch of people greater than his fellow Ravenclaws. They were a close bunch, even with the girls, but Terry Boot was definitely his best mate of all of them and there were two things they had both vowed never to do again.

Number one: never steal a mate's girl. They had vowed that when they didn't speak to each other in two weeks, because they were both adamant it was _themselves _Hannah Abbott had smiled at.

Number two: never read a book unless it was absolutely necessary. There were better things to do, like go outside, or watch a Quidditch match. That, they had both agreed to.

So when Terry caught Michael huddled over the diary written in an ancient English form, he certainly had a lot of explaining to do.

"What are you doing?"

Michael hadn't jumped so high in his life. He stuffed the book under his pillow, blushing.

"Nothing."

Terry frowned. "You were reading."

"No I wasn't."

"You weren't at the Quidditch match earlier, either."

"I was sick."

"You were reading."

Terry came to sit on his own bed, which was opposite Michael's. "What's so fascinating about it?"

"Nothing."

"Show me."

"No."

Terry reached for Michael's pillow, but Michael held him off. "It's personal."

There was silence for a very long while, and every second that ticked by, Michael felt himself go redder and redder. Finally, Terry burst out laughing.

"I get it!" he gawaffed.

"Get what?" Michael scowled.

Terry's expression was one of amusement. "You have a diary."

"What?"

"You said it was personal. You have a diary." Terry frowned. "You better not be writing about Hannah. She's off limits remember."

Scowling, Michael pushed his friend away.

Terry laughed. "Anyway, I came up here to tell you that Dumbledore has sent a message through all the prefects. He needs the whole school in the Great Hall. Some kind of announcement or something."

Making sure Terry wasn't going to reach for the diary, Michael stood up. "An announcement?"

Terry shrugged. "Some are saying someone died." He shrugged again. "Fingers crossed it's Malfoy."

Terry was still sniggering as they left the common room, and Michael gave him another shove. He'd have to dispose of the book before someone else found him.

…

Robert hadn't expected today to be any different from the day before. It was a Saturday, and on Saturdays he prepared for his sermon the next day. This year was going to be his last before he retired, and he wanted it to be the best.

Sometimes, he'd take a walk through Caithness to get an idea if nothing came to him. It was common, and not unusual, but this Saturday, oddly, was.

He passed one of his most faithful church-goers, who greeted him with joy and promised to attend tomorrow. He blessed them, and thanked them, and continued on his way.

Everything seemed normal until he passed a small alley where many of the townsfolk would leave their rubbish to be collected. It often smelled bad, but that day in particular, it was pretty rotten.

Deciding he could possibly link foul-smelling garbage to a Bible reading, Robert went to investigate. What he found, horrified him.

If it had just been a body he had discovered, he would have called the police; but he recognised the robes as the same as his children wore when they went off to their magic school.

Robert scratched his head, debating what to do. Perhaps he could call Isobel. After all, she had communications with people who could deal with this.

Yes, that would be what he'd do. He'd return to his wife and get her involved.

He'd barely left the alley before a _pop _distracted him. To his left, a very old man had appeared, looking grim.

"I'll take care of this, thank you, Mr McGonagall. It need not concern you anymore."

Robert did not question how the man knew his name, but instead said a silent prayer for the victim, who appeared to be only fourteen at the oldest."

"Sir," Robert said after a moment. "May I know the boy's name? I wish to pray for him at church tomorrow."

The man nodded. "Jack Sloper," he said.

Robert nodded, and both man and body were gone. "May you rest in peace, Jack Sloper," he whispered.

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_**So this is going to be a collection from each week of the Soap Opera challenge (which I am running). Five characters and five scenarios are generated and the idea is to link them - pretty much like a soap opera. Characters and scenarios are always random, and this is not exactly always going to make entire sense. But I hope you enjoy these stories.  
**_

_**Thank you to Elizabeth Blossom for beta-ing for me!**_


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